


Love is Friendship Caught Fire

by ahurston



Series: Love is Friendship Caught Fire [1]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Brief Mentions of Catholicism and Jesus' Abs, Honeymoon, Invented backstory for Adelina, Light D/s, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-Season 5, Sex Toys, Slight reference to past drug use, Theoretical Discussion of Threesomes, Travel, gratuitous use of google translate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-05-19 19:32:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19362970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahurston/pseuds/ahurston
Summary: “You’re my best friend, Patrick.”“You’re mine too, David. I want to see the whole world with you.”David and Patrick take an (affordable) trip to Portugal for their honeymoon.





	1. Planning

**Author's Note:**

> O amor é uma amizade que pega fogo.
> 
> Love is friendship caught fire.

David had too many search tabs open.

 

_Most LGBT-Friendly European Travel Destinations_

 

_Best Gay-Friendly (and Cheap!) Travel Ideas_

 

_Europe on a Shoestring Budget_

 

_Paris, When You’re Poor_

 

_Budget Airlines - You Probably Won’t Die!_

 

_Hostels That Aren’t Gross!_

 

And so on. Honeymoon planning had gotten a little stressful. The wedding itself was mostly buttoned up at this point. Patrick and his spreadsheets, plus David’s clear creative vision, had seen to that. All that was left was planning their honeymoon. This should have been the easiest part, given how much travel experience David had. He even had this indelible image of what he wanted the trip to be in his mind.

 

He and Patrick, in some superb European city, Patrick finally living his best, gay life. Dancing with Patrick in some beautiful, rooftop club. Getting Patrick into some short, little swim shorts on a sexy beach on the Côte d'Azur. Getting Patrick out of those swim shorts in a tasteful, sunlit hotel room right on the coast.

 

Their honeymoon budget disagreed with these dreams.

 

David and Patrick were financing the bulk of the wedding themselves, but Patrick’s parents, lovely people that they are, had given them an incredibly generous $4,000 toward their honeymoon. The only problem was that back when David lived in New York, he’d never gone so far as a weekend in Montauk for anything less than $20,000. While David had long-since put such spending behind him, he had no idea how to plan a ten day trip to Europe on $4,000.

 

" _'Europe's Classiest Campgrounds_ '? David, what's going on? Should I be worried?" Patrick asked, peering over David's shoulder at his laptop screen.

 

David shut his laptop gingerly, as if it would bite him. "I honestly don't know. Maybe we should just go to Victoria and call it good. We both know I'm not camping. Even in France."

 

"Victoria is beautiful, but I don't think it really has the 'thriving gay scene' you were hoping to introduce me to," Patrick said, reasonably.

 

"I know. It's just, I truly have no idea how to plan a budget vacation. And I really wanted to see you experience being out-and-proud somewhere other than Schitt's Creek. With me."

 

Patrick squeezed his shoulders, bending to place a kiss on the back of his neck. "Let me help."

 

\-------

 

Three days later, Patrick walked into their store on his afternoon off, while David was closing up for the day.

 

"Lisbon. How about Lisbon?" He asked.

 

David thought about it for a second, leaning on the counter. "You know, I've never been to Lisbon. Ok, sell me on it."

 

"Ok." Patrick grinned. He loved a challenge. "How does this sound." He started ticking things off with his fingers. "Lisbon has beaches, gay bars, art museums, interesting cuisine..."

 

David smiled and nodded at him to keep going. Once Patrick was on a tear with a good idea, it was best not to interrupt.

 

"Amazing architecture, shopping, music, street art, so many things, David. Best of all, everything is crazy cheap. Check out this place.” He showed David his phone, with a photo of a beautiful, sunny bedroom all in white, the window overlooking some sort of colorful plaza. “It's only $35 a night. And while I absolutely want you to take me to all your favorite cosmopolitan cities someday, why not have our honeymoon somewhere we can make new memories instead?"

 

David could hardly argue with that logic. “Is there a catch?”

 

“Not a catch, not exactly. It’s just the flight. The cheapest way to get to Lisbon from Toronto is to fly Air Azores, stopping over in São Miguel either on the way there or the way back for a few days.”

 

Geography had never been David’s strong suit. “Where the hell is São Miguel?”

 

“An island in the Azores, which is this Portuguese island chain about two thirds of the way between Canada and mainland Portugal. Honestly, I’ve always wanted to go there. One of the islands, Pico, has really great mountain trails and whale watching. I was thinking, what if we split the trip into two parts - half in Lisbon, half in Pico, and play to both our strengths? You, the urban cultural connoisseur, and me, the backpack expedition guide?” Patrick asked, looking hopeful.

 

 _Compromise_. The word was ‘compromise.’ David could do that. He was marrying this person, this outdoorsy, rugged person, after all. If Patrick wanted to watch whales, (whatever that entailed), and climb another mountain, that worked for David. He was learning there was really nothing he wouldn’t do for Patrick. As long as he still got to eat cheese in Lisbon. And get Patrick into short shorts on the beach. He was a man of simple tastes, after all.

 

“I’m in. You plan the daring island adventure segment of this trip, and I’ll handle Lisbon.” David smiled back at Patrick, relieved to finally have a plan.

 

“You got it.”

 

\-------

 

David shut the door to their apartment, juggling a bottle of wine, a pizza box, an Amazon package and attempting to lock the door behind him.

 

“Boa noite, David. Obrigada pela pizza!”

 

“Duolingo again? How’s the Portuguese coming? That little bird giving you shit again?” David asked, setting the pizza and wine down. Since they had landed on a honeymoon destination and booked their flights three weeks ago, Patrick had been studiously attempting to pick up a little bit of the language in the evenings after work. David thought the app’s little green mascot was judgy. So what if it had been four days since he had last practiced his Portuguese days of the week. David’s contributions to their trip lay elsewhere, like finding the absolute best place to get bifanas, these delightful-looking pork sandwiches.

 

“It’s going well. I keep getting French scrambled up with it though. How does this sound: “Onde posso ver as baleias?”

 

“Are you asking me if it’s time to eat this pizza I bought? If so, then that sounds great.”

 

“Actually, I was asking you if you knew where I could see the whales.”

 

“Um, no, I do not. I believe that whale-watching is part of the Island Adventure portion of our trip, firmly within your trip planning jurisdictional authority,” David replied, waving a hand at Patrick and arching an eyebrow. “On the other hand, if you want to know which churrascaria in Lisbon serves the best chicken piri-piri, I can help you out.”

 

“Oh, I know. Believe me. You’ve been talking about that chicken for days,” Patrick said with an indulgent smile.

 

“That’s because it’s fantastic. And I’ve only had it from this one food cart in New York. Imagine how good it’ll be from the _source,_ ” David sighed reverently, lost in dreams of spice-coated chicken.

 

“While I’d love to get back into the chicken discussion, what’s in that box?” Patrick asked.

 

“Nothing. Just some swim shorts.”

 

“This doesn’t have anything to do with my swim trunks I showed you last week, which you seemed so fond of?”

 

“Patrick, those shorts had hibiscus flowers and surfboards on them, and they nearly hit your knees. You are not wearing those on Praia do Tamariz.”

 

“Well, if I’m not wearing my surf shorts on this trip, I take it I’m free to pick out some hiking boots and waterproof clothes for you?” Patrick smirked. “It’s only fair.”

 

“Point taken. Yes. As long as you wear these.” David held the tasteful, black, mid-thigh length swim shorts out for Patrick’s examination.

 

“Deal. Now, você quer comer pizza?” Patrick asked.

 

“Are we still talking about whales? Or did I hear the word ‘pizza’ in there?” David asked, hopefully.

 

\------

 

The wedding had gone by in a gorgeous, emotion-filled blur. It seemed like everyone cried - Moira and Johnny drunk and swaying by the open bar, Marcy and Clint slow dancing on the dance floor, Alexis trying to reel in Drunk Ted's extreme affection for every person in the room. Stevie trying to out-drink Roland. And David and Patrick, oblivious to everyone else. Just as it should be.

 

Later, blessedly alone in their apartment again, Patrick peeled an exhausted and near-boneless David out of his suit, smoothing his hands down his body once he’d gotten him flat on his back on the bed.

 

"God, baby, that feels so good. You've been touching me all day, but your hands feel so much better out of these annoying clothes. Clothes are stupid. Have I told you how much I love your hands?" David slurred, as Patrick set to work kissing up David's stomach and chest, before latching onto the delicate skin of his neck, under his ear.

 

"Once or twice," Patrick said softly into his ear, tweaking a nipple and bringing his other hand down to trace over David’s half-hard cock. “And you must be tired, and drunk, if you’re saying clothes are stupid. You love clothes,” Patrick teased.

 

“I love _you_ ,” David breathed out, eyes closing.

 

Patrick took his hand off David’s cock, stripping out of his own suit and pulling the covers over them both. He pulled David to his chest, bringing a hand up to his chest to feel his heartbeat, before pressing a kiss to the back of his head.

 

“Don’t wanna fall asleep. Gotta fuck you on our wedding night,” David protested, weakly.

 

“This is why you had me this morning, David. We knew we’d be exhausted tonight. And there’s always tomorrow, David. And every day after that,” Patrick answered, kissing David’s neck again.

 

David perked up at that, struggling to sit up. Not managing that, he rolled to his back, fixing Patrick with a determined look. “Nope. Not tonight. I _married_ you today - you at least have to fuck my mouth. I can just lay here, that’ll work.”

 

“Hon, saying ‘I can just lay here’ is hardly wedding night material,” Patrick teased, smiling.

 

“Sure it is. And tomorrow, I get to fuck you on another continent. Come on, give me that cock. Hop on up here.”

 

“Well, with an invitation like that, how can I resist.” Patrick threw a leg over David’s chest, settling over his body. He took his dick out through the fly in his boxer shorts, tugging on it, although like usual, it hardly needed that extra incentive to reach full hardness, with David looking like _that_ underneath him.

 

David pulled an extra pillow from Patrick’s side of the bed to place under his head, getting his mouth up to a better angle.

 

“Open, David.”

 

David let his mouth fall open at the gentle command, which never failed to send a shiver through Patrick. He ran his dick along David’s lower lip, before bringing a hand to his hair to tilt his head and slide his dick onto David’s waiting tongue. David closed his lips around him, offering his tight, wet mouth for Patrick to use.

 

“God, David, that’s perfect. Just like that.” Patrick kept a hand in David’s hair, and set a slow, deep pace into his mouth. “Come on babe, I know you’re tired, but use your hands too.”

 

David brought one hand up to Patrick’s ass, kneading at the muscle there, and the other hand around the base of his cock, stroking up to meet his mouth at the speed Patrick was setting.

 

After a minute or two of David’s hand on him, his smooth, gold rings sliding along his cock, Patrick’s rhythm began to falter. “David, I’m close, I’m close, keep going, that’s perfect.”

 

The hand on Patrick’s ass pulled him all the way into David’s mouth, until his cock was nudging at the back of his throat. How David always knew exactly when he was about to come, he’d never know. He fisted his hand in David’s hair, and brought his other hand on top of David’s at the base of his dick before emptying into the David’s throat.

 

He gently slid out of David’s mouth, bending down to kiss him, chasing the flavor of himself. He re-positioned himself over David’s thighs, swallowing David’s cock down in one go and returning the favor.

 

\------

 

In the morning, Patrick brewed coffee for David, and Earl Grey for himself. He weighed their suitcases one last time, not wanting to get dinged with extra baggage fees at the airport. He carefully loaded their bags into the car, hoping meanwhile that David was up and showering already.

 

It wasn’t unreasonable that David wanted to sleep in a little on the morning after their wedding, but Patrick couldn’t help it - he loved getting to the airport early. He knew arriving at YYZ three hours ahead of their departure time was ridiculous, but to him, there was hardly anything more relaxing than sitting at the gate, well-ahead of an on-schedule flight, exactly where he was supposed to be. And in the past, that had been only when he was flying to Quebec City or Vancouver to visit his cousins, not Portugal. He couldn’t wait to see what David had planned for the first half of their trip.

 

He walked back up the stairs to their apartment, and was surprised to see David lacing up his shoes at the kitchen table.

 

“What? You’re ready?” Patrick asked, shocked.

 

“Yup. You said you love getting to the airport early, and I’m trying to start this marriage thing off on the right foot.” David said breezily, smiling at him. “It’s called _compromise_ , Patrick.”


	2. Lisbon, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Lettered, for the whale education and good chats.

“Patrick. We’re on a  _ plane _ ," David stage-whispered excitedly, once the flight attendant finished with the pre-departure safety demonstration and the plane had reached cruising altitude. “Not just any plane, a nonstop international flight! Patrick, do you realize I have not set foot on a plane in six years?”

 

David had, in fact, mentioned that he had not been on a plane in six years. Several times. 

 

Just then, the seat in front of David reclined abruptly, right into David’s bent knees. “Ow, shit, what just happened!” he yelped.

 

“Um, the person in front of you leaned their seat back," Patrick answered.

 

“Well, that can't be right. That seat must be broken. We should let them know."

 

"Nope, that's just what happens when you lean a coach seat back. I promise you, they know."

David looked aghast at the incomprehensible rudeness of the passenger in front of him, and swiveled his legs to the side.

 

“At least there’s free wine.”

 

“Hon, in coach, the wine isn’t free.”

 

At that harsh brush with reality, David leaned to the side to plunk his head onto Patrick’s shoulder with a sigh. “At least in coach, there’s you.”

 

Patrick thought distracting David from the atrocities of flying might help. “So tell me, what are we doing when we arrive tonight?”

 

David smiled. “Dropping our stuff at the hotel. Then late night bifanas. And then I’m taking you to a drag show. You’re going to love it. I hope.”

 

“Sounds perfect.”

 

David’s insecurities kicked into gear. “Ok, but if I ever try to get you to do something you don’t like, or we go somewhere that makes you uncomfortable, you’ll tell me, right? I don’t want to take you anywhere you don’t want to go.”

 

“David, I appreciate that sentiment, I really do.” He kissed David’s knuckles. 

 

“And in trade, I promise to do my best to climb whatever mountain you want to climb on the second half of this trip,  _ and _ ,” he shuddered, “ride on whatever scary, little raft you want to ride on to see some terrifying fish.”

 

“Whales aren’t fish. They’re mammals.”

 

“I know. I’m not a full dumbass. Whales are hippos that walked back into the sea. Pretty sure I read that on Wikipedia,” David said, with more confidence in this statement than the truth of it merited. 

 

“Actually, their evolutionary history is more complex than that, involving these smallish, carnivorous, even-toed ungulates that were more like deer, or maybe pigs...”

 

The rest of the flight went by in a blur of Patrick talking about evolutionary progression and David listing off all the dishes he planned to eat in Lisbon.

\----------

After checking into their hotel and dropping their bags, Patrick turned to David with his version of a devious smirk, not that Patrick’s face was really capable of ever looking truly devious. “David. There’s a  _ ladder  _ in here.”

 

“Really? That’s the first thing you noticed? Not the gorgeous cement tilework, traditional, hand-painted pottery, the pleasing contrast between the whitewashed walls and dark, stained wood wainscoting in this classic, Pombaline-style...” David was forced to stop describing the aesthetic advantages of this understated and beautiful room as Patrick backed him into the ladder leading up to a small loft. 

 

David caught the rails of the ladder behind him, as Patrick brought both hands to the sides of his face, leaning in for, David realized, their first kiss on another continent. 

 

They kissed, and kissed, until David’s stomach rumbled. Patrick pulled back to smirk at him. 

 

“Let’s feed you. Bifanas, right? Is the place close to here?”

 

“Hmm?” David looked a little dazed. Kissing Patrick had that effect. “Just a couple blocks away. And then the drag show. But now that I’m thinking about it, that involves a lot of time in between now and when we get to do whatever you have in mind for this ladder.”

 

“The ladder will still be here when we get back. Let’s go get a pork sandwich. The anticipation is killing me, from how much you’ve talked about them for the last three months.”

 

\----------

 

The counter-serve restaurant was packed with a raucous throng of locals, based on how much Portuguese Patrick could hear being spoken in comparison to some of the more touristy places they’d passed walking over. Perfect. 

 

Patrick ordered their sandwiches, plenty of fries, house red for David, and a Super Bock for himself, thanking Duo Lingo in his head, even though the guy at the cash register seemed to mainly be humoring him in his attempts to speak the language.

 

Back at their table and after taking their first few bites, David looked ready to worship the food in front of him. 

 

“Do I need to leave you alone with your food? You look like you and that sandwich are having an intimate moment.” Patrick grinned at him. 

 

David looked up before taking another bite. “This is mustard-covered perfection. How much did you say this cost?”

 

“€3 each. Plus another €3 for the wine and beer.”

 

“Are you fucking kidding me? How is that possible? I once had this $900 bagel in New York that had edible gold leaf on it and this stupidly delicious goji berry spread, and now I want to burn that place to the ground. Did you know bifanas are different in each region - like the pork in this one here, was likely soaked in a marinade of -”

 

“Dry white wine, paprika, lemon juice, bay leaves, and garlic, I remember from the flight here,” Patrick teased. 

 

“You’re mocking me, and I don’t even care. Let me get back to communing with my sandwich.”

 

“By all means.”

 

\----------

 

After another round of drinks and a second plate of fries, David and Patrick walked out into the cool, humid air and on to their next destination.

 

“So, a drag show. You know, I’ve never been,” Patrick said.

 

“I figured rural Ontario didn’t have a vibrant drag scene. Hence,  _ Finalmente Club _ . It’s just around the corner. I was reading online that it’s been there since the 70’s - it has a really cool history. It’s actually great we got into town so late. Apparently the crowd doesn’t start really picking up until about 2:00 or 3:00 AM.”

 

“Lead the way!”

 

After paying the modest cover charge, the club doors opened to a waft of smoke, so thick that both Patrick and David coughed. 

 

“Ok, so the smoke is a little much,” David acknowledged with a grimace.

 

Patrick coughed again. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I really want to do this with you.”

 

“Just one song? Let’s get to the front.” David took Patrick’s hand, and gently pulled him along  toward the front of the room, weaving through the crowd. 

 

The music started, and three performers came out onto the stage in floor length, sequined gowns. “Oh my God, they’re doing ‘Dreamgirls,’ perfect. Fuck, they look amazing,” David gushed, as the queens started to dance and lip sync along to the song. 

 

Patrick truly did admire the artistry of the performance, but he could barely breathe from all the smoke. David looked so happy though, and he didn’t want to interrupt. 

 

Toward the end of the song though, it became unavoidable. Patrick squeezed David’s hand to get his attention, and jerked his head towards the exit. 

 

“You want to go?” David asked, trying to be heard over the crowd, and looking more than a little disappointed.

 

“I don’t, I really don’t want to leave, but I’m not used to all this smoke. Can we go outside for a minute?”

 

David nodded, and they made their way to the doors. 

 

When they had made it outside, and Patrick had taken a few cleansing breaths, he noticed that David was staring at the pavement. “I’m sorry. I really wanted you to have a good time,” he said, in a small voice. 

 

“David, it’s not that I didn’t like it - those performers were amazing. I wish we could stay. I just...you wanted me to tell you if I was ever uncomfortable.”

 

“Did the show make you uncomfortable?” David asked, mouth twisting, still struggling to maintain eye contact. 

 

Patrick brought his hands up to David’s shoulders, catching his eyes. 

 

“No. Absolutely not. That’s not it at all. It was seriously just the smoke.”

 

David took a deep breath, reminding himself that Patrick wouldn’t lie to him. “Ok, that’s totally fine.” He gathered himself. “Want to head back to the hotel and check out that ladder again?”

 

Patrick slid a hand down David’s arm, squeezing his bicep gently before taking his hand.

 

“That sounds perfect.”

 

\----------

 

Back in their room, David realized they’d brought the smell of the club with them. Which, added with the general funk of a seven hour flight, was making him feel less than sexy.

 

Seemingly reading his mind, Patrick asked, “Hey, can I wash your hair? The bathroom has a standalone clawfoot tub.”

 

“That sounds amazing. Can I sort of pre-wash in the shower though? I don’t want to soak in my own filth.”

 

“We wouldn’t want that.” Patrick smirked at him, unbuttoning his own shirt. “Let’s shower together.”

 

David pulled his sweater over his head, folding and laying it on the kitchen table, making the sweater a silent promise he would get it dry cleaned before they left Lisbon. 

 

The shower was beautiful - understated blue and white tile, and a rainfall showerhead. Perfect for two people. How this place only cost $65 a night David just could not understand. David set the tap to a comfortable temperature, and shucked out of the rest of his clothes as Patrick grabbed their toiletries. Lord knows David wouldn’t use the hotel’s mini bottles of combination shampoo and conditioner. 

 

David stepped into the shower first, breathing in the steam and letting the water sluice the grime of hundreds of fellow travelers and club-goers off of him. Sometimes, David wished he could live on some imaginary, pristine island, where the air was crisp and cool, and there were no people except for Patrick and his perfect, clean mouth, who was currently leaving less-than-clean, open-mouth kisses on David shoulders and the sides of his neck from where he was pressed to David’s back. 

 

David grabbed the bar of eucalyptus-scented coconut oil bar soap he’d packed off the shower’s wall shelf, lathering it in his hands. He took one of Patrick’s hands in his, running the suds over Patrick’s fingers and up his arm, delighted at the goosebumps that sprang up in the wake of his touch. That he was able to get such a reaction out of him, years in, made David feel warm, and if he admitted it to himself, pretty valuable.

 

He passed Patrick the bar of soap after finishing with his other hand and arm. Patrick ran his now-soapy hands up David’s back and over his chest, before bringing them down to David’s hip bones. David couldn’t miss the way Patrick’s cock had filled out and was pressing against the curve of his ass. 

 

David turned around slowly, letting Patrick’s dick drag across his thigh. “You still planning on washing my hair or are we going to be moving on to the next phase of the evening?” David asked, smiling. 

 

Patrick took a small step back from David and bent down to his knees. David thought this was promising. But then he gathered more soap in his hands and wordlessly began washing David’s feet and legs, mouth teasingly close to David’s erection. 

 

“Not that I would mind, um, if you wanted to move things along. Whatever you want.” David couldn’t help getting compliant when Patrick was paying attention to him like this. No one had ever  _ paid attention _ like Patrick did. 

 

“I’m still going to wash your hair. Go fill the tub while I finish up in here,” he instructed. 

 

David’s brain went a little hazy at the command. He nodded and stepped out of the shower, not bothering to grab a towel. The tub was a gorgeous porcelain, with copper taps. Once it was half full, David stepped in, sitting down and leaning back against the headrest. He shut his eyes. 

 

Patrick knelt behind his head, bringing both hands up to massage David’s favorite shampoo into his hair, kneading at his scalp.

 

“God, that feels amazing,” David near-purred.

 

Patrick stopped his ministrations for a moment. “Don’t fall asleep.”

 

“I won’t. You were going to do something to me on that ladder, remember?” David slurred. 

 

“I think it might be a little late for that. Last I checked, with the time difference, it’s almost 4:00 AM. Rinse, David.”

 

Without thinking twice, David sunk underneath the warm water, rinsing the suds out of his hair. He resurfaced, leaning his head back again. “I still want your cock tonight though.”

 

Starting with the ends of his hair, Patrick gently combed the conditioner in with his fingers, tugging lightly like he knew David loved. 

 

“Then you’ll have it. I think you’re good now, rinse again and step out, babe.”

 

David willed his body to comply, sleepily getting out of the tub with Patrick’s gentle hand in his. 

 

Patrick grabbed a fluffy white bath towel off of a shelf on the wall, along with David’s microfiber hair towel. He handed the hair towel to David, not trusting himself with the delicate process of how David dried his hair. As David set about the task with a practiced, automatic air, Patrick carefully dried off the rest of his body, before leading David over to the bed. 

 

David sat down on the end of the bed, looking up at Patrick and waiting to see what was going to happen next. 

 

“David, scoot up. Spread your legs.”

 

David did as he was told, more than sure that Patrick had good things in store for him. 

 

Patrick settled in between David’s knees, pushing on his ankles to bring his knees up, feet flat on the bed. Then he paused, considering. 

 

“What do you want, David?”

 

“Whatever you want. I want you to have what you want.” David may have been a little out of his head by this point, the combination of a transatlantic flight, a few drinks, and the hot steam of the shower and bath getting to him. 

 

“No. You were so worried tonight when you thought I didn’t like what you had planned for us. I want to know what you want. Tell me.”

 

“I honestly don’t know. Kiss me, that’s a place to start.”

 

“That’s a good place to start.” 

 

Instead of going for David’s lips as he was expecting, Patrick moved backwards on the bed, away from him, before lifting David’s ankle to his mouth and leaving a kiss there and doing the same to the other. He proceeded up David’s body in this fashion, mirroring every kiss on each side until David was shaking with the intensity of this much attention. And Patrick hadn’t touched his cock yet. 

 

He laid a kiss on David’s lowest ribs, earning a shudder for his efforts. He bit at David’s collarbone, smoothing over the bites with his tongue. Moving upwards, he left a bruising mark at the junction of where his shoulder met his neck, knowing they still had nine days for the mark to fade before David needed to look respectable for work. 

 

“Mmm, that feels so good. Not to rush you, like,  _ at all _ , but are you going to fuck me at some point tonight?” David asked hopefully, lifting his hips up, looking for friction and not finding any. Even though Patrick hadn’t tied him down (this time), David still felt the silent order not to move around too much. He was more than happy to cede that control to Patrick. 

 

“If it’s ok with you, I wanted to do something else.” 

 

“Anything, anything,” David answered. But then to his disappointment, Patrick stood up from the bed and started rooting through one of David’s bags. That disappointment was short-lived, as Patrick returned victorious with a travel-size bottle of lube in his hand. 

 

Patrick straddled David’s thighs, and David smiled warmly with the anticipation of Patrick’s hand on him. But then instead, Patrick’s hand encircled his own cock. Unfair. “David, look at me. I want you to watch what you do to me.” This was interesting - David was starting to grasp that Patrick had a slight penchant for performance, between Cabaret, baseball, and the like. David was more than happy to watch anything Patrick wanted him to see, especially when he was naked. 

 

Patrick started up a slow rhythm on his dick, circling the head, thumbing at the underside, drawing out his own pleasure, watching David. Always watching David. David couldn’t decide what was hotter, the enraptured expression on Patrick’s face, or the sight of his hand on his dick. 

 

As Patrick’s breaths started to come shorter, and the pace of his hand grew uneven. “I’m going to come on your cock, and then I’m going to jerk you off with what I’ve given you. Keep watching.”

 

“I will.” Fuck, David loved it when Patrick talked like this, and told him what he was going to do to him. It was so possessive. When they’d first started having sex this way, it had taken practice and continual reminders from David that Patrick talking about owning him, telling him what to do, made David feel  _ amazing _ , not in the least dirty or disrespected. And thank God that had worked, because Patrick was a natural at it.

 

With a low moan, Patrick aimed his dick right over David’s, letting strips of come drip down the sides of David’s cock. Not wanting any to go to waste, he rubbed the come that was still on his hand onto the base of David’s cock, and finally,  _ finally _ , took him in hand. 

 

Well, this wasn’t going to take long. David arched off the bed, hands disobeying his mind’s instruction to be still and gripping at Patrick’s hips. 

 

“That’s fine, that’s good, David. Just let go.”

 

Patrick didn’t waste any time teasing David. Not now that it was nearing dawn, and David was desperate for him. He twisted his fist just the way David liked, firmly stroking from the base to the tip, rotating his hand over the head until David started a litany of filthy praise. 

 

“Fuck, Patrick, fuck. You looked so good, over me like that. I want your come on every part of my body. I want to go out in public with your come rubbed into my skin under my clothes. I want it on my face. Can you do that tomorrow? Fuck, baby, I’m close, come on, give it to me a little faster...” Patrick obliged, bringing David to a shuddering climax as David relaxed bonelessly into the mattress. 

 

Being still of semi-sound mind, Patrick went to the bathroom to get a warm washcloth, coming back to clean David and himself up. 

 

David was nearly asleep by the time he’d finished, Patrick pulling the crisp, white duvet over them both.

 

“You’d really want me to come on you and leave it there?” he asked, curious. Sometimes David’s sex-babbling went over and above what he really wanted, other times, it was revealing. 

 

“I mean...I hadn’t really thought about it until I said it, but yeah. I think I do. I’d come home right after and shower thoroughly of course, but yeah. I want your come on me. Like probably to an unhealthy degree.” 

 

“That’s weirdly sweet, David.”

 

“I do love you, you know. I’ve never loved anyone like I love you.”

 

“You too, David. I love you too.”

 

David’s eyes shut. Patrick was about to drift off too, when David whispered, “And oh my God, I’d nearly forgotten. Tomorrow, there’s pastéis de nata for breakfast.”

 

Patrick smiled, pulling David backwards, against his chest, just like David loved best. 


	3. Lisbon, Part II

“Patrick.  _ Patrick.  _ It’s time to wake up.” David was shaking Patrick’s shoulder, none-to-gently. This was an as-yet unknown occurrence, David voluntarily waking before Patrick. Apparently all it required was sufficient motivation.

 

“What, what’s happening?” Patrick’s eyes opened, blearily, and he squinted at the old-fashioned clock on the nightstand. It was only 10:00 AM, Lisbon time, and 5:00 AM, Schitt’s Creek time. “Is everything ok?” Patrick asked, confusion giving way to some degree of alarm. “You’ve...” he searched his memory. “Never woken me up before. Never. And didn’t we only go to bed about five hours ago?”

 

 “Oh shit, I’m sorry. No emergency. I mean, there’s sort of an emergency, in that I’m starving, and the pastéis de nata place opened two hours ago, and apparently they sometimes,  _ God forbid,  _ run out before mid-morning. So. Could you please, maybe, get up? I even made you tea...” David gestured behind him at their room’s kitchenette, where a french press of pleasantly strong-looking black tea was brewed and ready. 

 

Patrick rolled himself to a seated position, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. David was nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet, clearly ready for him to get moving. 

 

“You already got ready and everything?” Patrick asked, a little bit of wonder in his voice. “How good are these pastries?”

 

“Um, really good. So here’s what I hadn’t mentioned when you landed on Portugal as a perfect honeymoon destination,” David started, self-consciously twisting the gold ring on his index finger. “Adelina - our nanny, growing up - was from Lisbon. And, um, this is probably stupidly sentimental, but she used to make these for us, sometimes, when she was homesick.”

 

“That’s not stupid, David,” Patrick replied. 

 

In Patrick’s view, there was nearly nothing salvageable about David’s early years. He would never phrase it so bluntly to David, but the offhanded way David and his parents talked about episodes from David and Alexis’ childhood sounded like demonstrable neglect to Patrick. The one exception was Adelina. From what little David had told him before, she was a truly warm and caring person, and Patrick felt vicarious gratitude for her.

 

(Patrick loved the Roses, as the versions of themselves they are  _ now _ , to be clear.)

 

“So yeah, um, she passed away, a few years ago, actually not that long before we lost everything. This is going to sound like a weird brag, but did I ever tell you I used to send her money, back when money was something I had?” 

 

“You never told me that. That’s sweet, David. I’m sorry she passed away.”

 

“She was sick for a long time. She had her daughter with her, but I knew my parents had to have underpaid her. To put up with Alexis and me? And you’ve seen how badly they tip Twyla at the cafe. So it felt like reparations. I wanted her to know what she’d meant to me, even though I couldn’t really put it into words. Back then, putting feelings into words wasn’t something I could really, uh, do?”

 

Patrick nodded, accompanying a half smile and a small feeling of pride in his chest at how far David had come. 

 

“And it’s just, sometimes I think about her? I may have been kind of obsessing about these damn pastries. It feels weirdly important.” 

 

Patrick patted the bed beside him. When David settled next to him, Patrick started rubbing slowly across his shoulder blades in silent encouragement. 

 

“Our cook, Rafael, didn’t like it when she’d make them, because she had to heat the oven up as high as it could go, to get them browned right, and he’d complain it made the kitchen hot. So sometimes, when Rafael had the day off, she and I would sneak into his kitchen and make them together.” David paused. 

 

“She would tell me that while hers were good, the ones back home were better. Something about the type of butter and the ovens they use here. So anyway. Planning this part of the trip, I remembered her, and remembered cooking with her, and when I was looking around for places for us to go and things for us to eat, it kind of flooded back? How I felt about her?” David took a fortifying breath before continuing. 

 

“She really was a good person. Probably the best person I knew, before I met you. I mean. I...care about my family, and Stevie, and...well, that’s pretty much the complete list. But, let’s be realistic, we’re all kind of assholes. Adelina wasn’t like that. She was sweet. She made me pastéis de nata, even though she missed her family so much. She let me braid her hair, and she never made fun of me for being afraid of stupid shit, moths and heights and stuff. She probably kept me alive, honestly.” 

 

“Thank you for telling me. She sounds like a really special person. Patrick pressed a kiss to David’s clothed shoulder. “Let’s go - let me just throw on some clothes.” 

 

“There’s one other thing though. So there’s a really highly rated place to get them like three blocks away. But, Adelina used to say that the ones in Belém are the original. As in, they’ve been making them for hundreds of years. It’s a short walk, then a train, then another short walk. Is that ridiculous?”

 

“That’s no problem, David. I wanted to take a walk today anyway. And you are not ridiculous.”

 

Patrick climbed out of bed, throwing on the first t-shirt and jeans he came across in his suitcase. When they had packed for the trip, David’s only request for Patrick’s vacation wardrobe had been something like,  _ “At least let me see your arms,”  _ so Patrick had left most of his button-ups back in Schitt’s Creek. 

 

Teeth brushed, SPF moisturizer applied (at David’s insistence), shoes on, tea poured into Patrick’s favorite thermos that he’d been sure to pack, and they were out the door. 

 

The walk down to the train station was beautiful, a combination of narrow, winding streets, alleys and tree-lined boulevards. As it was the middle of the day, the train station was mainly full of tourists, rather than commuters. Patrick could hear a mishmash of German, English, and Spanish, as well as some languages he couldn’t identify with confidence. David and Patrick held onto the same rail in the center of the car, one of David’s hands on the rail, the other in Patrick’s back pocket,  _ “for balance,”  _ David had said, with a smirk. 

 

Fifteen minutes later, the train let them out onto a crowded platform, and from there it was just a short walk to their destination. 

 

David tugged on Patrick’s hand. “Patrick, this line is  _ long _ . Why did I drag us out here? We could have gotten a great breakfast down the street from our hotel.” 

 

“But you wanted to come here! It’s fine, David. It’s a beautiful day, we can wait.” 

 

Just then, a middle-aged, fanny-pack clad woman emerged from a door to the side of where the throng of people was queuing, balancing three boxes full of what David was pessimistically sure were the last pastries of the day. Fanny packs. So incorrect. An added insult to an already grievous injury.

 

Seeing what must have been the look of despair on David’s face, she approached them and in a genial, Midwestern American tone said, “You boys look worried. The trick is to go find a table inside. This line is for takeout.” With that, she gave them a conspiratorial wink, and ambled away. David modified his initial opinion of the woman. She wasn’t a tacky, gluttonous tourist, she was their personal pastéis de nata sherpa. 

 

Once inside, David and Patrick wove through the crowd toward an open table in the back, overhead fans wafting the smell of custard, pastry, and cinnamon through the air. David had heard somewhere that scent-memory was the strongest pathway of recall in the brain. He believed it now. That smell brought him right back to being eight years old again, peering through the glass-doored oven to see if the characteristic browning had started on the tops of the pastry cups yet. Adelina had always told him patience was worth it - something about needing to have the patience of Job in order to bake properly. The Biblical reference had been a bit beyond the immediacy of an eight year old’s hunger, however. 

 

Patrick couldn’t help but let out a bright laugh when David placed their order for twelve pastéis de nata with cinnamon, a large coffee, and another tea. 

 

“What? You thought I’d fly 3000 miles to eat these things and order, what,  _ two? _ Do you know me at all?”

 

Patrick took his hand across the table, trying and failing to school his expression into something more serious. Pastry-level serious. “I’m not laughing at you, not really. I’m laughing because I love this about you, so much. Living within the bounds of perfect moderation is so boring, and I should know. Before you, I’d always tried to love things in reasonable amounts. You’ve opened my eyes to the joys of the occasional excess.”

 

“Hey, I’ll have you know that 25 year old me would have laughed at the idea that a large pastry order constitutes hedonistic excess. See, I had this dealer...”

 

Patrick kissed his knuckles and interrupted. “It’s not going to work, David. You’re trying to distract me with another story about ‘fish bowls full of E.’ I still love 25 year old you. I love every version of you. Past, present, and future. ”

 

“Mmm ‘k. Still think we met at the right time. Also, that’s unforgivably cheesy, but I’m still going to cry about it, except I’d rather not cry in here? In front of these people? There are an awful lot of people with their phones out taking a startling amount of pictures that I really don’t want my ugly-crying face to be costarring in.”

 

As if to save David from the emotional intensity of confronting Patrick’s love for ‘every version of him,’  _ Jesus, _ a server arrived with their order, on an alarmingly heavy-looking tray. 

 

“Oh my God, David, how are we going to get all this food back to the hotel?”

 

“More incentive to eat as much as we feasibly can now,” David replied, reasonably. 

 

“You go first. Try one.” Patrick sipped his tea. 

 

David took a bite out of the first of twelve pastéis, eyes closing involuntarily. 

 

“It’s just like Adelina’s. Except maybe a little crispier? That must be the butter and the oven temperature thing she’d talked about. Goddamn, this is perfect. Try one.”

 

Patrick took a bite, frankly entranced at both the taste and the expression of bliss on David’s face.

 

“These are amazing. I’m so glad you ordered twelve.”

 

Patrick had underestimated how delicious and addictive these things were. He and David easily finished their order. 

 

“So what are we doing next?” Patrick asked. “I don’t know how you could top this though.”

 

“I’m not going to try to beat this. I thought we could take the train back into the main part of town and just walk around until we’re hungry again. Does that sound ok?” 

 

“Sounds perfect.”

 

\------

 

Back in the central part of town, they checked off some other destinations on David’s list. The oldest bookshop in the world, Bertrand, was Patrick’s favorite, while David’s was, by far, a boutique selling locally-produced perfumes and colognes. 

 

“God, I wish we could carry this one in the store. It’s perfect. But, well, not exactly representative of products produced in rural Ontario,” David bemoaned, placing the sandalwood and bergamot cologne back on the shelf. 

 

“But you like it for yourself? Get it, David. We have room in our suitcases for a bottle of cologne.”

 

“It’s kind of expensive though,” David replied, toying with the cap on the elaborate glass bottle.

 

“Well, if it makes you feel better, so far today we’ve spent a whopping $24 on food and transportation. Unless your dinner plans are incredibly high-end, I think we can swing it.”

 

“You’re right. God, I love this city,” David said. 

 

After purchasing the cologne and heading back out into the street, David directed them to their next destination, a ginjinha bar a few blocks away. 

 

“So give me the spiel on ginjinha.”

 

“Ok, so I’ve only had ginjinha once, and it was from this artisan, pop-up bar in the East Village that was only open on the summer solstice, so I really doubt it was the real deal. This place is supposed to be legit.” 

 

Patrick bit back a smile.  _ Only open on the solstice. _ “Go on.”

 

“It’s made from sour cherries steeped in brandy. That’s it. Ok, end of spiel. Let’s drink.” 

 

The tiny bar had a narrow, steel counter, around which a few locals were gathered, sipping at their small glasses of dark red liqueur and chatting. 

 

David held up two fingers to the bartender, and said “Duas, por favor, com ginja.” 

 

He turned to Patrick, who was looking at him with raised eyebrows. 

 

“What? So I may have looked up the appropriate way to order this, in advance. You’re not the only one who likes to plan.”

 

They sipped their drinks, and copied the other patrons by sucking on the cherry at the bottom of the glass. After ordering another couple rounds and polishing them off, Patrick said in a low voice to David, “I just remembered something.”   
  
“What did you remember?”

 

“Our hotel room has a ladder.”

 

“So it does. And three drinks is what it takes to get you to talk about your ladder plan in a public place?” David asked, teasing.

 

“It’s not so much a fully-formed plan as it is a simple realization of what the ladder makes possible.” Patrick leaned close, whispering into David’s ear, “You can fuck me standing. I can hang on to the rails.”

 

David nearly dropped his glass. After recovering himself and draining it, he stood up to leave, Patrick close behind. 

 

In tacit agreement that a long walk or train ride wasn’t in the cards at this point, given Patrick’s concise but persuasive plan for the evening, David hailed a taxi. 

 

On the ride back to the hotel, Patrick traced patterns into David’s denim-covered thigh. David loved Patrick tipsy. Tipsy Patrick was handsy. And had good ideas. 

 

Once back in their room, Patrick wasted no time divesting David of his clothes, and stripping down himself. 

 

“So how are you envisioning this happening?” David asked, curiously. Even when David was topping, Patrick loved to be in charge. David ate it up.

 

“I want to do the whole thing standing, if that’s good for you. I think if I stand on the first rung of the ladder, you’ll have the right angle to fuck into me.”

 

“God. Yup, we can do that. Have you, uh, checked that this thing is sturdy?” David asked, leaning over to try jiggling the ladder. 

 

Patrick rolled his eyes. “You know I bought travel insurance, but that doesn’t mean I want to visit an ER on our honeymoon.”

 

“I don’t know why I asked. Of course you tested the ladder.”

 

Patrick climbed up onto the first step of the ladder, spreading his legs so that his feet were braced into the rails. David had to pause a moment to soak in the site - Patrick’s firm ass, thick and muscular legs, the broad shoulders - all for him. 

 

“Lube’s on the nightstand still from last night, in case you forgot,” Patrick said, equal measures of sass and eagerness in his voice. 

 

After fetching the lube, David took a moment to lightly stroke the skin of Patrick’s hips and the backs of his thighs, leaving pebbled flesh in his wake. 

 

“Come on, David.”

 

David lifted his hands off of Patrick’s ass. “Please don’t hurry me. You just look amazing like this.”

 

“You’re right. Take your time. But not too much.”

 

Patrick was normally the sexually patient one in this relationship, so David didn’t want to keep him waiting if he was desperate for it. David squeezed a little bit of lube onto his fingers, working just his index finger in between Patrick’s ass cheeks and circling his hole. 

 

“Jesus, David.”

 

“I’ve barely started. It’s like  _ that  _ tonight, is it?” David smiled. 

 

“I don’t know what it’s like, I’m just really sensitive right now. Please keep going.”

 

_ Please _ . Patrick did not, as a rule, beg. Interesting. 

 

David continued rubbing at Patrick’s rim, dipping just the tip of his finger inside before going back to rubbing, skating his fingers down over Patrick’s balls. Patrick shuddered, hands flexing on the rails. 

 

Taking mercy on him, David added more lube to his hand and then brought his fingers back to Patrick’s hole, sliding his middle finger inside in a smooth stroke. 

 

“ _ Fuck, _ David. That’s good.”

 

David twisted that finger around inside him, thrusting it in and out a few times before adding a second. He gripped Patrick’s hip with his other hand to steady himself, struggling not to touch his own cock. He wanted this to last. 

 

At the third finger, Patrick let out a low moan, hips curving backwards in a beautiful stretch that showed off his toned back. 

 

“I’m ready, David - fuck me, come on.”

 

“I believe that earlier you might have said ‘ _ please. _ ’” David answered, not knowing exactly why he was pushing, but enjoying the unusual turnabout that was happening. 

 

“Fine,  _ please,  _ David, put your cock in me. I’m good, come on, do it.”

 

“Ok, if you insist.”

 

David added lube to his cock. He put a hand to Patrick’s tailbone, gently pushing his back into a slight arch to make his ass more accessible. Perfect. 

 

He pushed the head past Patrick’s rim, marveling at the feeling this angle provided. Patrick was so right that this height was perfect. As Patrick leaned back, his hole practically swallowed up the entirety of David’s cock, making David gasp. 

 

“Not so cocky now, are you?” Patrick said, breathily, a shiver running up his back to give away how much this was affecting him. 

 

“Excuse me, who was just now  _ begging _ me to fuck them?” David had the presence of mind to retort. 

 

“Fine, please, come on, fuck me. Put your hands over mine on the rails here and get to work.”

 

Jesus Christ. David complied, slotting his fingers between Patrick’s and holding tight, as his hips set up a rhythm seemingly on their own. It was amazing how deep he could get in this position. 

 

“Here, rotate your hips down, just a little,” he said, forehead pressed to the sweet skin in between Patrick’s shoulder blades. 

 

Patrick tilted his hips, letting out a hoarse cry the next time David slid home.

 

“ _ Fuck,  _ David! Shit!”

 

“Yes, come on, can you come like this? Just on my cock?” This was one of David’s most treasured and closely held Patrick secrets. That when David could hit his prostate just right, at just the right angle, Patrick could get there without a hand on his cock. 

 

“Yeah, yeah, I can - just keep going. Don’t stop.”

 

“I wouldn’t, babe, I don’t think I can. Wait, are your arms ok? Are you getting tired?” He had just enough brain cells left to check in. 

 

“I’m good, I’m good - keep fucking me. Please.” Patrick begged. There was no other word for it. Holy fuck. 

 

David pulled out nearly all the way, sliding back in firmly as Patrick started to fall apart around him. He started to feel like his hands on Patrick’s were helping to hold him up. 

 

“I’m there, I’m there, shit, David!” he yelled, as his come hit the wall in front of him. 

 

And with that, as Patrick tightened in a vice grip around David’s cock, David couldn’t hold on any more. With one more thrust, he came, grateful for the thousandth time that they hadn’t used condoms in so long. There was something so incredibly hot and intimate about those last few thrusts during an orgasm, as he could feel how his own come made Patrick so wonderfully slick and messy, just for him. As he came down from the high, he pressed open mouthed, biting kisses to Patrick’s back and shoulders.

 

“David, I’m going to fall off this thing if you don’t help me down,” Patrick warned.

 

“Shit, yeah, I got you.” David took his hands off Patrick’s, and slid them down to his waist to help keep Patrick upright as he stepped off the ladder. 

 

David turned him around, steering him to lay down on the bed, on his front. “I’ll be right back, just getting something to clean us up.”

 

David returned from the bathroom with a warm, wet cloth, and carefully washed Patrick. He saw that Patrick had gotten out a travel-sized bottle of David’s favorite lotion from their store sometime last night, leaving it within reach on the nightstand. David squeezed some into his hands, and began massaging at Patrick’s tense shoulders and upper back. 

 

“That feels so good, David,” Patrick sighed. 

 

“How was that for you?” David asked, knowing how it was, but needing to hear it all the same. “Everything you had planned for that poor ladder?”

 

“That was perfect. You’re perfect,” Patrick murmured, sleepily.

 

“I might be perfect, but I’m definitely going to need to check out that chicken piri-piri street cart outside our building. All we’ve eaten today are pastries. Can I let you cat-nap for a few minutes while I go get us some?”

 

He leaned forward over Patrick’s back, when Patrick didn’t reply. Patrick was already snoring lightly, a smile on his face.


	4. Lisbon, Part III

In the middle of breakfast two days later, Patrick said, apropos of nothing, “Do you ever miss threesomes, or foursomes, or whatever? More than one person at a time.”

David nearly spit out his coffee. 

“Excuse me?” David looked to his right and left, trying to gauge if anyone could hear them and be scandalized by this conversation. Their booth was unfortunately secluded however, so Patrick could continue with this line of questioning. 

“I just mean, prior to this,” Patrick gestured between them, “it sounded like you had had some pretty good times with multiples.” 

David looked mournfully down at his beautiful ham and cheese crepe, knowing he’d have to take a break from it to answer him.

“If you’re asking me if I want to have a threesome, no. I don’t.”

“Why not, though?” Patrick asked, evenly.

“Really? Now? In the middle of breakfast?”

“No, David. I don’t want to have a threesome in the middle of breakfast,” Patrick replied, grinning.

“Smartass. What I mean is, why do you want to talk about threesomes on our honeymoon?”

“No reason in particular, I was just curious. If it was something you maybe missed. More than one person’s hands on you. Or your hands on more than one person.”

David paused before answering. “It sounds like you’ve given this some thought.”

“Being with you makes me open to trying things,” he said reasonably. 

David sighed. He was going to have to tell him, wasn’t he. “I appreciate your open-mindedness, I do. But, ok, here’s the thing. I don’t actually like threesomes. Or foursomes, or whatever orgy scenario you’ve imagined.”

“I wasn’t imagining orgies,” Patrick said, but the faint pink tinge on his ears gave him away.

“Mm’k. Sure. Anyway. It’s not as fun as you’d think, dealing with the pressure of more than one person’s sexual expectations. At least not for me. I get really in my head about it. It starts feeling like a performance.”

“I can see that. Do you think with the right person though...”

David shook his head firmly. “No. Ok, let me rephrase that. Not, no, as in, this is something you should never bring up again, but no, as in, I have no interest right now or for the foreseeable future in anybody else getting access to this,” he waved his hand at himself. 

Patrick smiled. “That’s kind of sweet, David. So, all for me, then?”

“It’s not really like a possessiveness thing, or anything like that. It’s just, I’ve never felt safe with someone like I do with you. You wouldn’t believe the kinds of things I had to worry about with other people. That was only multiplied when there were more people involved. I like not having to think about that stuff with you. Like, for example, I love not worrying about condoms. Do you remember how hard I cried the first time you had your dick in me bare?”

Patrick reached across the table to stroke the thin skin on the back of David’s hand. “I remember. I think I’m starting to get it. Thank you for explaining it to me.”

“Can I eat my breakfast now? Your sourdough with jam is starting to look mushy.”

“Yeah, David. Let’s eat.”

\-------

With no specific agenda in mind for their last day in the city, they wandered through a neighborhood on a different side of the city center. David took comfort in the fact that his calves were going to look amazing after all these hills. Not to mention the workout he’d gotten on that ladder two nights ago, and the swim he and Patrick had taken at Caxias Beach on the outskirts of town yesterday. Those swim shorts David had bought Patrick had done him all the favors. 

“David, look.” Patrick said, pulling David’s attention away from the vivid memory of the way Patrick’s ass had looked in those shorts, and pointing at a nondescript storefront. The store’s purpose was given away by the busty mannequins in the window wearing see-through, red negligee.

“Those look like the ones from the Blouse Barn that I sold on eBay. Who knows, maybe they are.”

Patrick laughed, having heard the story of the nippley mannequins before. 

“Do you want to go inside?”

David reflected on the offerings on display in the window. “While of course you’d look amazing in that lacy black garter belt there, especially with some eyeliner, did you have something specific in mind?”

“I just wondered if maybe they had any toys we could add to our collection at home.”

“Ah, I see. A very practical souvenir. I like it. Let’s go in.”

The shop was quaint, in an old-timey, porn-on-dvd way, and the friendly, older woman behind the counter seemed happy to have customers. As David scanned the shop, his eyes landed on a surprisingly high quality selection of Lelo products on the back wall. Whoever was doing the ordering had good taste. 

His gaze fell to a royal blue device he’d never seen before. Back in New York, he had made a point of collecting a variety of well-made, body-safe products, but since moving to Schitt’s Creek, he hadn’t expanded his collection. Looking at the label, he saw it was called “A Onda.” 

Picking it up off the shelf, he looked around for Patrick, finding him examining the ingredients list on a startlingly neon green bottle of lube. 

“Patrick, what does ‘onda’ mean?”

“I don’t know, David. Despite what you may think of my language skills, I didn’t achieve fluency with two months-worth of practice.” Patrick pointed toward the register. “Ask the lady.”

David approached the counter. This was a bit more human interaction than he was typically looking for when shopping for sex toys. Oh well. “Excuse me.”

“Si? How can I help you?” she asked.

“I was just wondering if you could tell me about this one.” He held up the vibrator. At least he thought it was a vibrator. It had a button.

“Ah, A Onda,” she answered with a smile. “Very popular.”

“Yes, um, what does it do?”

“It makes a, how do you say...” She made a vague motion with her fingers.

Patrick jumped in. “A wave? Onda?”

“Si! Press the button.”

David pressed the button, nearly dropping the device when the larger end started making a back and forth motion and vibrating.

“Oh. Oh. I see. And this part,” he touched the smaller, bulb-like part, “This goes, ah. Ok. Great. Um, Patrick?” David started picking at the fabric of Patrick’s shirt sleeve.

Patrick turned to him, a slightly glazed-over look in his eyes.

“Can we buy this?” David asked.

“How much is it?”

Ah yes, a relevant consideration. Price had never been an object before when David was shopping for toys. He glanced at the price tag. €120. 

“Nevermind, it’s fine. Let’s go.” David tugged on his hand, to lead him out of the store, but Patrick wasn’t moving. 

“How do you feel about street cart chicken for dinner again tonight instead of that restaurant you’d booked for us?” Patrick asked. 

This was hardly fair decision to ask him to make. The restaurant, Alma, looked amazing. It had two Michelin stars, for fuck’s sake. David hadn’t been to a restaurant that nice in years. And he’d really been looking forward to the coast-to-coast seafood tasting menu. But, on the other hand.

“Let’s get the toy.”

Their purchase wrapped and placed in a garish bright pink bag emblazoned with the words, “Bom Sexo” left David feeling good about his life choices. That is until they had walked a few more blocks, and Patrick suddenly stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. 

“David, I know this place.”

David looked around, trying to figure out what Patrick had seen that necessitated them blocking the foot traffic of the people trying to get past them. Years of walking in New York had given him a fierce respect for sidewalk etiquette. He followed Patrick’s line of eyesight to a sign in front of a large church that read, “Igreja de Santo António de Lisboa.” 

“Like, you know this specific church? How?” David asked. 

“I mean, I’ve never been here of course, but yeah, I know this church.”

David looked at the beige stone building, which, while beautiful in that imposing way that Baroque architecture always was, didn’t seem especially remarkable. 

“I’m going to need a little more to go on, hon. Also, let’s go sit on that bench over there and stop blocking people’s way.”

“Do you know about Saint Anthony?” Patrick asked, after they had sat down. 

“Um, no. Remember - delightful half and half situation here. And my mom’s family was Protesetant, but only in the loosest of terms. We didn’t get into the saints much.”

“Well, you know my mom’s family is Catholic. And Saint Anthony was my grandpa Gerald’s favorite saint.”

“Ok?”

“He’s the patron saint of lost things. My grandpa really believed in him. Back when he was alive, whenever anyone in the family lost something important, he’d pray to Saint Anthony. And if it was something really important, he’d go light a candle.”

“That’s sweet. Did it ever work?” David asked, keeping an open mind. 

“Yeah, actually. Almost every time. You know I’m not particularly religious, but somehow, the whole Saint Anthony thing really stuck with me. Did I ever tell you about when I lost the box with your engagement rings in it, the week before I proposed?”

David gasped. “No, you certainly didn’t.”

“Yeah, there was a solid 48 hours when I had no idea where they were. I was trying not to let it show though, so you wouldn’t ask me what I was freaking out about and ruin the surprise.”

“I can’t believe I missed that.” David felt guilty at the idea that Patrick was stressed for a solid two days, and he hadn’t noticed. 

“You didn’t miss it, actually. You asked me what had me so agitated, and I may have lied and told you it was some Blue Jays-related drama. It wasn’t even baseball season. But you stopped asking after that.”

“You’re lucky I don’t know anything about sports. Ok, but back to Saint Anthony and the rings. I’m on the edge of my seat.”

“So yeah. I prayed. And while you were at our store, I even drove all the way to Saint Anne’s Church over in Elmdale and lit the biggest candle they had. Two hours later, I found the rings, in the inner pocket of that jacket you said makes me look like the unabomber.”

“Thank God for Saint Anthony. Also, you should burn that jacket,” David couldn’t help but add. 

“Anyway, when I was maybe twelve years old, and staying at my grandparents’ house while my parents went away for a weekend, my grandpa and I watched a documentary about Saint Anthony that was playing on the Catholic Channel, and for whatever reason, I remember this church in it. I think he was born here, maybe.”

“Do you want to go inside, look around a little?” David asked. 

“Yeah, actually. Would you mind?” Patrick asked, looking a little unsure.

“Of course not. Let’s do it.” David moved to stand up, but then stopped. “Wait a second, I don’t think we can bring this bag in there. It’s a little...obvious.”

“‘Bom Sexo,’ you think that’s obvious?” Patrick said, mouth twisting to the side. “You're right. Probably shouldn’t bring an anal vibrator with a built in come-hither motion into church. Ok, it’s no big deal, we can go back to the hotel. I don’t need to go in.”

“Yes you do.” David replied, firmly. He looked around for an answer to this problem. There. He spotted a large, flowering bush a few steps to their right. 

“Ok, let it be known. This is how much I love you. I’m stashing a vibrator that we paid the equivalent of $176 Canadian dollars for in a bush so that you can take me to church. And not in a sexy, Hozier way.”

Patrick smiled at him warmly as David stowed their prize under a particularly leaf-filled branch. “You really do love me, don’t you? Let’s go in.”

Inside the quiet of the church, David struggled to avoid noticing how fucking shredded Jesus’ abs were on the statue that was hanging near the altar. He felt like a sinner. But damn, whichever 18th century artist had sculpted that six pack sure had inspiration.

As David was busy eyeing Jesus, Patrick had drifted toward the back of the church, to a series of wall shelves covered in candles of various sizes. David watched him put a couple of coins into the box next to the shelf, before choosing a candle and lighting it. David’s breath caught as Patrick closed his eyes and bent his head, the light from the candles playing off his face. 

Once Patrick had finished and approached him again, David noticed that his eyes were a little misty. “Do you want to tell me what you prayed for?” David asked, gently.

“It wasn’t very conventional for a Saint Anthony prayer, actually.”

“I still want to hear about it, if you want to tell me.”

“It was a thank you. That’s all. For everything my grandpa ever found, for your engagement rings. For myself? I think? I was pretty lost before I met you. I’m not lost now.”

David opened his eyes wide to fight off the sudden onslaught of tears at those words. He wasn’t going to cry in church, for fuck’s sake. 

Patrick took his hand. “Let’s go, David. Thank you for this.”

After retrieving their bag from the bush outside, they walked back to the hotel at a leisurely pace, in tacit agreement that A Onda deserved an immediate introduction to one of their bodies before they figured out what to do with the rest of the day. 

\------

With the door to their room shut and locked behind them, David knew he needed to clarify something. “Ok, so when you were asking me about threesomes, you asked if I missed more than one person’s hands on me. And, um, the truth is, I guess, yes? But like, only in a way that could also be replicated by a four-handed massage. I just...really like being touched.”

Patrick smiled at him. “I thought so. That’s why I’m thinking we should try this thing out on you first, while I blow you.”

David froze, letting the mental image of that fog his brain over. “Yes, yes, let’s do that. Um, give me a minute in the shower?”

In the bathroom, David hurried to clean himself off perfunctorily, not wanting to get his dick too excited in advance of what was about to happen. He dried off carefully, and rejoined Patrick in the bedroom. 

Patrick had already stripped, turned down the sheets, and unboxed the toy. 

“Did you wash it?” David couldn’t help but ask, reflexively. 

Patrick rolled his eyes. “No, David. I intend to put an unwashed piece of silicone in your ass. Yes, of course I washed it. While you were in the shower.”

David flipped Patrick off, before climbing onto the mattress. “So how do you want to do this?” he asked, knowing he’d love whatever idea Patrick had come up with. 

“Well, this thing is hands-free, which is amazing. So I was thinking you could just lie on your back, and I’ll take care of your cock while this thing fucks your ass.”

David could never get over how quickly and thoroughly Patrick had taken to talking about sex this way. It wasn’t even dirty talk, not really. It was a literal description of the events that were about to transpire. 

“Yup, yup, that sounds perfect. So I’ll just...” David slid up the bed, arranging his head on two pillows and tilting his hips up in a way he hoped was inviting.

“Yeah, that looks good,” Patrick said, eyes dark and focused on where David’s dick was already hard and pointing at the ceiling. “I’m going to get you ready now, ok?”

“Yeah, babe,” David answered, never failing to note how careful Patrick was to make sure he was on board with whatever they were doing. 

Patrick squeezed some lube onto his fingers, and surprised David by first circling his now-slick hand around David’s cock, giving it a slow, firm stroke. David nearly arched off the bed in surprise. 

“Fuck, baby. Why does that feel so good. We just fucked last night. I shouldn’t be this sensitive already.”

“A mystery for the ages.” Patrick tapped on the inside of one of David’s knees. “Ok, spread your knees a bit more for me, and tilt up a bit. There, yeah.” 

Patrick ran a finger from David’s cockhead over his balls, down his perineum, and swirled it around his hole. David tried to push his hips forward a little, to get that finger inside him, but there was never any rushing Patrick. Fortunately for him however, Patrick didn’t seem too interested in drawing this part out. He slid his index finger inside, crooking it right away. 

“God, baby. That’s good. Can you kind of, tug on the rim a little?” He asked, breathily. Patrick obliged, and then slipped another finger inside. After a minute or two of Patrick scissoring his fingers beautifully, David was ready for a third, which he let Patrick know. 

“I know, David. I can tell when you’re ready for more, even without you saying anything. I’ve got you, just relax.” He added a third, and reached with his other hand to where he’d left the toy on the duvet next to him. 

He slipped his fingers out of David in order to be able to lube up the toy, to which David responded with a regret-filled moan. 

“Just a second, babe. Just getting this thing ready. Do you want the vibration on or off as I put it in you?”

David tried to think about that, through the haze that filled his brain. “I don’t know. Off? I think?”

Patrick nodded, bringing the slightly pointed tip of the larger end of the toy to David’s hole, and slowly working it in. Because it was made of such a high-grade silicone, it slid in smoothly, with the end of it settling right against his prostate, and the smaller arm snug up under his balls. 

“Mmm. That feels great. Fuck, that’s perfect.” David twisted his hips a little, feeling the way the toy filled him up. 

“God, you look perfect,” Patrick said on a sigh, sitting back on his heels to watch David. 

“You can turn it on now. Maybe the lowest setting, just to start.”

“You got it. Ok, here goes.” Patrick pressed the button at the toy’s base, and David let out a long, low groan as it started to curl inside him, and vibrate. The combination of the vibrating pressure on his taint and the relentless, rhythmic pressing on his prostate from the inside was like nothing David had ever felt before. And he’d felt a lot of things. 

“David, tell me, is it good?” Patrick asked, trying to catch David’s eyes.

“It’s so good, it’s so good. Hey, not to be greedy, but weren’t you going to blow me too? I want that. And hey, it’s like two people are touching me after all. But it’s better than two people, because they’re both you. This toy and your actual mouth. I mean, your mouth isn’t touching me yet. Why isn’t your mouth touching me yet?” David babbled, nonsensically. This thing might be driving him insane. He even thought he could maybe get off on just this, something he’d never done before. But he did want Patrick to blow him. 

Patrick laughed brightly, before rearranging himself into the best angle to swallow David down, without preamble. David’s back curved up and off the mattress at that, which in turn changed the angle of the vibrator inside him. 

“FUCK,” he yelled, before Patrick reached up and clamped a hand over his mouth, careful to leave his nose clear so David could breathe. This was something they hadn’t done since Patrick had lived at Ray’s, Patrick having to keep David quiet. To be honest, David had missed this. Not the incessant barging-in of Patrick’s enthusiastically extroverted roommate, but this - Patrick’s hand over his mouth. 

Patrick pulled his mouth off David’s cock, wetly. “There, hon, now you can yell all you want, and the other hotel guests won’t hear you. Go for it. Show me how hard this is getting you off.”

“Mmmphhhh,” David moaned, loudly, through Patrick’s palm as Patrick sucked on the head of his cock, his other hand massaging his balls, and the toy working away inside him. 

This had to be the most intense thing he’d ever felt. Ever. He could feel the sliver of his brain that was still conscious trying to record this, for posterity. Then he dreamily remembered that he could have this whenever he wanted. Patrick was his, somehow. He got to do this forever. 

It was that thought, sentimental as it was, that sent David over the edge, his hands in Patrick’s hair, holding his head onto his cock as he came into the back of his throat with a muffled cry. Patrick took it, swallowing him down beautifully before unclamping his hand from David’s mouth and sitting back up. 

“The vibrator, babe, please, turn it off!” David said, urgently, the curling pressure on his prostate far too much for his fucked-out body. 

“Oh right, shit, let me get that.” Patrick found the button, struggling a bit as the whole device was now slick with lube. “Fortunate that it’s waterproof, geez,” he said, as he gentled pulled it from David’s body and placed it on one of two clean towels he’d set next to the David on the bed. 

He picked up the other towel, as if to start cleaning David up.

“What are you doing?” David asked, head tilted to the side. 

“Cleaning you up?” Patrick replied, a little confused.

“But you haven’t gotten off yet!” 

“It’s fine, babe, I can get off later. I know you’ll take care of me.”

“But I want to take care of you now. Put your dick in me. Lord knows I’m already ready for it.”

Patrick glanced down between David’s legs, admiring. “Yeah. Yeah, you are. Ok, if you’re sure.”

David struggled not to roll his eyes. “I’m sure.”

Patrick moved between David’s legs, pressing his knees up to his chest and sliding on home in one fluid movement.

“Holy fuck, you feel incredible. I’ve never felt you quite like this. You feel...you feel fucked, David. It’s incredible.”

“Mmm. That’s good. See, we don’t even need another person. Anytime you’re feeling like sharing me, we can just get this gorgeous thing out again,” David replied, gesturing at the toy still laying next to them on the now-lubey towel. 

Patrick slowed his thrusts, looking like he was trying to bring his brain back online. “I don’t want to share you. That’s not it. I just want you to feel as good as humanly possible. All the time.”

Well, shit. David brought a hand to the back of Patrick’s neck, bringing his face down so David could kiss him, tongue finding traces of his own taste in his mouth. 

Patrick started breathing hard into David’s mouth, lips making sporadic contact as he snapped his hips into David’s well-used body. David knew he couldn’t come a second time, not with how thoroughly he’d gotten off just moments ago, but that didn’t stop his poor, confused dick from making a valiant attempt at hardness where it was trapped between their stomachs. 

Patrick tilted his head to press his sweaty forehead against David’s temple, whispering in his ear, “I can’t believe we get to do this forever,” seemingly struck by the same thought that had driven David over the edge earlier. 

One more deep thrust inside him, and Patrick was coming, gasping into the side of David’s neck. 

Patrick caught his breath, clearly trying to considerately keep most of his weight off of David and on his own shaking arms. Seeing this, David pushed at Patrick’s chest gently, to signal him to slip out and roll to lay beside him. 

They took a minute to breathe together, hands clasped between them. Holding hands after sex - something David did now, that his 25 year old self never could have imagined. 

David came back to semi-consciousness first. He rolled to the edge of the bed, keeping his hand locked with Patrick’s and pulling them both to a swaying stand. “Let’s shower together.”

\-------

After, on a bed re-made with clean sheets from the closet and steaming tins of chicken piri-piri, rice, and paprika-roasted vegetables laid out in front of them, David said with a small smile, “This wasn’t exactly how I imagined spending our last evening in Lisbon.”

“Are you disappointed?” Patrick asked, a worried wrinkle on his forehead. David couldn’t help but lean over and smooth it out with his thumb. 

Both hands on Patrick’s face, he leaned in to kiss him sweetly. “No, not in the fucking least. I couldn't be. I'm here with you. You’re my best friend, Patrick.”

“You’re mine too, David. I want to see the whole world with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part II - Azores is next.


End file.
